


this is about john mulaney getting pegged by his wife

by keepitunderyourhat



Category: Actor RPF, US Comedians RPF
Genre: Anxiety Disorder, F/M, Femdom, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-14 20:28:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29301936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keepitunderyourhat/pseuds/keepitunderyourhat
Summary: i'm so sorry about this we're almost a year into quarantine and i've lost all sense of shame
Relationships: John Mulaney/Annamarie Tendler Mulaney
Comments: 5
Kudos: 14





	this is about john mulaney getting pegged by his wife

\---

They had laid out some clear ground rules:

Both parties must agree upon a time at least 36 hours in advance, rimming was a hard no, and John was allowed to take a Xanax beforehand.

If anything, John was frustrated by his own anxiety. He liked to think of himself as a thoughtful and open-minded person—and much of the time, he was. He didn’t think it was gross, or weird, or even gay, and he was well aware of its merits. Nick and his girlfriend apparently did it on the regular, and it’s not like sex was a competition between them but wasn’t it, though? Still, the thought of anal penetration made his muscles clench in panic. He was mostly squeamish about the potential for mess, or afraid that it would hurt, but of course there was also the matter of his stupid little Catholic superego.

“Personally, I think Jesus would be firmly pro-pegging,” Anna had said. “And not taking advantage of the prostate is an affront to God’s brilliant design!” 

He wanted to try it, really. Anna was clearly interested, probably a lot more so than she was letting on, and he would walk a mile on broken glass to make her happy. Plus, he liked being underneath her. She had a way of making him feel delicate, and beautiful, and precious, in a way that did not detract from his identity as a man, but expanded upon it and made him better.They both knew that their willingness to challenge traditional gender roles was one of the strongest parts of their relationship. This wasn’t going to change anything.

She had asked John if he had any preferences regarding size or shape, to which he replied, “Do I seem like a person who knows the dimensions of his rectum offhand?” Anna understood this to be code for, “Please make this decision for me, for I am scared to know myself in this way.” A week later, she came home with a hot pink shopping bag labelled _Babeland_ , but did not reveal her new purchases. 

On the day they had chosen, Anna had a meeting with the textile conservationist people to prepare for an upcoming museum exhibition. She would be home after dinnertime. John spent the day mostly lounging, though he did take Petunia for a walk down to SoHo. He was grateful that his ADHD medication reduced his appetite to almost nothing, because he was far too anxious to risk eating solid food. He had spent a week obsessively researching the most effective self-preparation routines before deciding to avoid the whole ordeal altogether. 

A few minutes before Anna was supposed to return, John popped half a Xanax, desperately trying not to think about his stupid fucking clinic story. It’s not like it was traumatizing, but it didn’t exactly make him feel sexy. He was curled up on the couch watching _Selling Sunset_ when he heard the keys in the door, making Tunie’s ears perk up as well. 

“Evening, dearest,” he said, tilting his head back to look at his wife. She hummed in acknowledgement as she took off her Maison Margielas. She said hello to Petunia and kissed the top of John’s head before rummaging around in the kitchen. 

“Have you had dinner?”

“No, I’m fasting.”

“If you pass out, it’s your fault.” 

“There are much worse things.” 

“No part of you could ever gross me out, babycakes.” They’d been over this before, but Anna’s tone was still cheerful. 

John sighed, wishing he could make his brain believe what his heart knew to be true. “I know.” The anxiety was especially silly since Anna had taken care of him during the multiple occasions he’d contracted food poisoning. 

Anna cracked open a seltzer and split it between two glass tumblers, their own version of a nightcap. She brought them over to the couch and sat with her feet tucked underneath her. John turned off the TV, shifting to face her. They chatted for a bit about her work before the conversation shifted to the inevitable. 

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” Anna said for the millionth time. 

“No, I-“ John paused to look up at the ceiling, and took a steadying breath. “I _really_ want to do this. I’m just insane.” 

She smiled. “Okay.” There was a moment of silent tension, and then: “Go wait on the bed while I get ready.” 

Upon hearing the command, John felt his ears get hot, and was suddenly very aware of his skin. Anna kissed his forehead, and the sensation lingered. When she moved to stand up, he had to stop himself from immediately getting up to follow her. God, he was such a sucker. 

Petunia was conked out on her little cushion-bed-thing, so John didn’t need to worry about her. He moved their dishes to the sink and tidied a bit, then headed to their bedroom. He had no idea if Anna was only going to be a few minutes or if she had something wildly elaborate planned. 

At first he sat on the edge of the bed, feet on the ground, but it made him feel like a kid waiting outside the principal’s office. Should he undress? Who was he kidding, he was no Rose DeWitt Bukater. He decided to move to the center of the bed, lying on his back with hands interlaced over his chest. The anticipation made him crazy, which was probably the point. Just listening to his wife move around in their bathroom had him half-hard already. 

He was no stranger to role reversal. Anna was on top all the time, working him over until he melted into nothingness. She liked to ride him until he was on the brink of orgasm before stopping abruptly and reveling in his devastation, edging him for what felt like hours until he was practically delirious—knowing all the while that if he tried to thrust up into her she would end the session entirely. It made him lose his fucking mind. But it wasn’t until he learned the term “service top” from Gay Twitter that he realized just how submissive he really was. No matter what position they were in, no matter how much he might appear to be the stalwart husband taking his rightful place, Anna never surrendered to him—she invited him to share something that belonged to her. When she spread her legs, he was being presented with a gift, and he found complete satisfaction in the act of repaying her. He knew that tonight’s experience was not a chance for her to use him, to degrade him, or for any sort of humiliation kink. This was a way for her to remind him that she loved him just as hopelessly and selflessly as he loved her. Anna had taught John how to accept meaningful pleasure into his life, after years of seeking instant gratification that ultimately left him feeling hollow. He trusted her with the deepest part of his soul. Lost in this train of thought, John flinched when he heard the turn of the doorknob.

Anna was in a silk bathrobe she had gotten from their trip to Japan, her hair held back in a shabby-chic sort of bun. She was carrying a small box, which she set down on the bed. John had the feeling that he shouldn’t speak unless he was spoken to first. Out of their nightstand drawers, she pulled some run-of-the-mill supplies: lube, baby wipes, and one of their designated Sex Towels. Out of the box came her favorite handheld vibrator and the strap-on. John exhaled slowly and repressed the urge to squirm—but he couldn’t deny that the buzz of nervous energy was delicious. The toy Anna had chosen was modern and sleek, and didn’t have the graphic details of a traditional dildo. It was a phallus, not a penis. It was dark purple. She undid the tie of her bathrobe, and John saw that the harness masqueraded as a cute pair of underwear rather than a scary-looking bondage thing. She completed the look with a lacy white garter belt that held up sheer seamed stockings. They were part of Dita von Teese’s latest collection, which she had caught John ogling on Instagram a few weeks ago. He noticed, and she noticed that he noticed. She grinned. John gazed at her, raking his eyes up and down her figure with a dreamy smile. “You’re perfect.” The Xanax had kicked in, making his senses just a touch softer and his mood just a touch more amiable. Finally, she joined him on the bed, curling into his side with one hand resting on his torso. 

“You take such good care of me, and I want to return the favor.”

“Please, I’d be nothing without you.” John still struggled with deflecting compliments.

Anna rolled her eyes. “Whatever.” 

She moved to kiss him then, slow and sweet. She traced the contours of his face with delicate fingertips, following the cartilage of his ear and moving down towards his throat. John’s neck was hypersensitive, and he typically couldn’t stand being touched there—but in the right headspace, it could make him see stars. Anna began to trace little patterns using her middle finger only, stroking just below his jawbone. He hummed into her mouth. She caught his lower lip between her teeth and dragged lightly, just the way he liked it. John wasn’t a masochist, but a little sting could be electrifying. 

Anna began to kiss his neck, making him squeeze his eyes shut and turn his head away—inadvertently giving her better access. One particular spot made him shudder violently, making Anna hum in amusement as she gave it extra attention. John grumbled something about it not being fair, trying to preserve his dignity, but they both knew he wasn’t really complaining. When she reached the collar of his t-shirt, she sat up, and moved to straddle him properly. 

“Let’s get this off, shall we?” She tugged on the hem. John propped himself up on his elbows, letting her push his shirt up and over his head. It wasn’t the most fluid execution, but silliness was a welcome part of sex for them. Essential, even. Anna tweaked his nipples, which he hated no matter what, but she couldn’t help it—he always reacted with the most indignant little _“Hey!’’_ and it was just the cutest thing. She gave each one a soothing kiss as an apology.

John was already fully hard in his sweatpants, and Anna could feel him underneath her. She rolled her hips gently, and he groaned. He was at a nice age, where, while sex was better than ever, he didn’t have to worry about coming too early or before the real fun even began. Anna ground down harder, as much for her own pleasure as it was for his. 

“Mmm, this is nice,” she said. “Remind me what I’m supposed to be doing again?” 

John looked at the ceiling in faux-exasperation, but the act was difficult to maintain while his brain was melting. “What, you think you’re funny, or something?” 

“Yeah, I do.”

Anna smoothed her hands up and down his bare sides, casually enjoying the feeling of her husband’s form. Her fingers began to dance upwards towards his underarms, an area that was typically off-limits. John immediately caught both of her wrists and held them in front of her. 

“No, absolutely not. No way.” He wasn’t upset, but he was deadly serious. He maintained his grasp, locking her in place, and Anna giggled. This was all part of a game. Anna liked to push boundaries until something made him snap, at which point he would remind her that he was, in fact, larger than her and much, much stronger. He’d never hurt her in a million years, which is why Anna found it so hot when she remembered that he _could_ if he wanted to. John was capable of being a raging, monstrous force of nature. His choice not to be was why Anna loved him more than words. 

She finally relented, tugging down the waistband of his sweatpants. She tapped his hip, and he dutifully lifted upwards to let her slide them all the way off. She then took off her own robe, leaving her breasts exposed and vulnerable. John’s hands flew to cup them, squeezing hard the way she liked. He thumbed over her nipples, making her gasp. She indulged this for a moment before swatting him away: “You can’t distract me. I’m a girl on a mission.” 

“By all means, continue.”

His briefs were next, and John gave a contented sigh as his aching cock was released from the tight fabric. Anna moved the towel underneath him to protect their duvet. Then, Anna reached for the bullet vibe. John groaned in earnest, because this thing made her downright villainous. 

She clicked it on, grinning wickedly. She began to trace it down his belly, making his ab muscles seize up and suck in. John inhaled sharply as she travelled it lower, but avoided his cock in favor of the spots where his inner thighs met his pelvis. He shivered, and one leg spasmed. His ADHD made him want things hard and fast and _right this second,_ so Anna’s leisured teasing felt like psychological warfare.

“Are you trying to kill me, woman?” The title was a joke, but John’s breathing was labored. In response, Anna pressed the vibrator onto his taint. He grunted, trying to hold back what could have been a much louder, much more embarrassing sound. Anna clucked her tongue, proceeding to move the toy directly against his hole—and John officially lost it, letting out a strangled cry and throwing his arm over his face to hide in the crook of his elbow. Anna let out a delighted peal of laughter, overjoyed to see her husband this way. She finally put her mouth on his cock, and he moaned with relief. Her head bobbed slowly up and down as she swirled her tongue around the head, the vibe still buzzing between his cheeks. This wasn’t a new discovery, but it was as far as they had ever gone with that area of John’s body. He writhed on the bed, chest heaving, making noises he would have been mortified by as a younger, less enlightened man.

However, they couldn’t forget the task at hand. Anna shut off the vibrator, and reached for the bottle of lube. She adjusted herself to a kneeling position while John caught his breath. 

“You doing okay?” 

“You’re a maniac, and I love you so fucking much.” John rubbed his eyes, chuckling a bit at his own reactions. 

“Just let me know how this feels, okay? Promise you’ll tell me if it hurts.” Anna’s voice was gentle, but firm. Protective. John nodded his response. 

With a reasonable amount of lube, Anna began to rub small circles on and around his hole, feeling the muscles contract and relax. She pressed a bit harder, and his body made no attempts at rejection. 

“It’s actually…sort of absurd, how good that feels,” John said. “Like, why, of all places, _why…”_

“Our creator has a sense of humor, I guess.” 

Feeling confident he was ready, Anna sunk one finger inside. 

“Fuck, okay, that’s—yeah, that’s okay.” John kept his breathing steady as he adjusted to the feeling, trying to see it as something sensual and not an awkward probing. 

“I think you can take more, babe, you’re very… open.”

“Thank God for benzodiazepines.” 

Two fingers, then, and the angle allowed her to go deeper. She rocked her hand back and forth, searching for the—

“Oh, _fuuuuuck.”_

Well, there it was. Anna leaned forward to kiss him wetly as his back arched off the mattress. Continuing to massage his prostate, she murmured in his ear: “You’re going to take my cock, and you’re going to love it.” 

John’s jaw went slack, stunned by his body’s reaction to the affirmation. He knew what it was to feel needy, but had never quite known this particular sort of ache—this all-consuming desire to get absolutely _railed._ His hips stuttered upward of their own volition, and Anna slammed them back down with her spare hand. John bit his bottom lip and grinned—he was so stupidly lucky to know this woman, let alone be married to her. 

Anna wiped her hand on the towel, then stood up off the bed. 

“Do you want me to—“ John motioned to flip onto his stomach.

“Oh, no, I want to see your face,” Anna said.

John blushed a little, still flattered despite their being together almost ten years now.“Oh, okay.”

Anna began to fasten the strap-on to the harness, adjusting for mobility and comfort. She touched the toy as though it were her own flesh. It was strange, she decided, the way that the silicone phallus did not feel like a costume of manhood, but rather an extension of her womanhood—but Anna had never been one to shy away from strangeness. 

Crawling back on the bed, Anna settled herself between John’s legs. She looked at him, and tenderly smoothed the hair away from his face. Her gaze made John feel like the most treasured antique or most precious work of art. She kissed his nose, both cheeks, and the dimple on his chin. 

“I love you,” she said, because she could.

“Promise me you’ll tell me if I shit on you.”

“I promise.”

In videos she’d watched, it seemed as though the typical “missionary” position involved the man’s legs hitched up on the woman’s shoulders, essentially folding him in half. There was no way John’s bad hip would be able to tolerate that, so she moved his legs to hook around her waist instead. She slicked the toy with a generous amount of lube.  Her eyes flickered upwards towards her husband’s. They were dark with lust, and his lips were parted just slightly. His pale skin had turned rosy all the way down to his chest. He was so fucking _pretty_. They held eye contact—blazing, fearless, terrifying eye contact—as she pushed inside him in one smooth motion.  The room was silent, broken only by hot, feverish breaths. Anna pressed her body flush to John’s, burying her face in the crook of his neck—the same way he that he would with her. She remained still, allowing him to get used to the new feeling. “I won’t move until you tell me.” 

John could feel the vibrations of her voice on his skin. There was no burning or stretching sensation, nothing like he had expected. There was an intense fullness, or a sense of being, well, stuffed. It could easily be uncomfortable, but only if he let it. His eyes had fallen shut as he concentrated. 

“Okay. Yeah.” John’s voice was hardly above a whisper. 

Anna drew out only an inch or so, and gently rocked forwards again. She repeated the motion a couple of times. Since her cock had no feeling, her focus was entirely on John. 

“How does that feel?”

John’s head was spinning, so he struggled to find words. “Ah… like a lot. It feels like a lot.”

“Do you want more or less?” Anna knew that specific questions without open-ended answers were easier for him when he got overstimulated.

“I want… the same. For now.” His eyes were still shut, and his brow was deeply furrowed. 

Anna continued to grind into him in small, undulating waves. She was surprised by how much the movement turned her on despite the lack of stimulation. She had worried about being physically capable of this at all, or that it would feel unnatural and awkward—but right now, she was beginning to feel an intoxicating sense of power. His body was hers to manipulate, hers to play with—and he trusted her enough to let her play.

“Honey, I think…ah…” John started, and Anna snapped to alertness. 

“Yeah, baby?” Her husband’s eyelids fluttered at the pet name. 

“You don’t need to go quite as deep, I think. The spot, the good spot, it’s not as…deep.” 

Anna adjusted accordingly. “Better?” The toy was designed specifically for prostate stimulation, so it would suck if it failed at its only job. But she felt John’s cock twitch against her stomach. 

“I… oh.” John’s heels dug into Anna’s back. “Oh… yeah.” It sounded like a genuine realization.

Anna was propped up on her elbows now, gaining a bit of momentum. “Mhm, that’s good?” She was fighting back a grin, stirred by his burgeoning enthusiasm. 

John exhaled in a way that resembled nervous laughter. “Hah _…_ really good. Like…”

“Like what?” Anna’s hips were rocking harder now, reaching a sustainable kind of rhythm. She put a hand behind the knee of John’s good leg and pushed it forward, seeking a different angle.

“OH.” His eyes flew open. On her next thrust, he gasped. “Fuck, oh, _fuck._ ” He craned his neck down to look at the action, then threw his head back against the pillows. 

Anna was smiling as she began to fuck him in the purest sense of the word, the tip of her tongue held between her teeth. It was thrilling to be in control. 

“Is this enough, or do you want me to take you hard?” 

John choked on his breath.

“Say it, baby.”

“Oh, Jesus, Anna.” John was panting, but she didn’t let him off the hook.

“Tell me what you want.”

John whined in the back of his throat. “I want…” He squeezed his eyes shut and licked his bottom lip. “Just fuck me hard. Fuck me _so_ hard.” 

Anna moaned at that, and obliged enthusiastically. She sat up more, basically on her knees, eschewing the previous romantic position for one that gave her more leverage. 

“Gonna make you feel so good, you’re gonna come so hard like this.” His guttural moans fell in tandem with the tempo of her thrusts, like she was fucking the sounds right out of him. “I want to see how far you can get without touching yourself, how close.”

John looked like he was in an entirely different worldly dimension, his eyes glazed over and his lids half-open. He didn’t talk much during sex in general, always wrapped up in his own head, but now it was like he was in some kind of post-verbal Nirvana state. His cock was red and leaking against his stomach. 

Anna wanted to kiss him some more, so she did. It was the kind of kissing that was borderline gross, mouths open wide and tongues sliding together until even their chins were covered in saliva. It was the kind of kissing that John could only tolerate if he was absolutely and definitively wrecked, far beyond any sort of cognitive ability. It was the same kind of wrecked he was aiming for when he used to get hammered or high out of his mind. All he wanted was to quiet the incessant screeching of anxiety, to reach the weightless feeling that came with being fully present in the moment. But this way, there was no impending hangover or comedown—only a doting wife to cuddle him to sleep.

Fighting total incoherency, John managed to say: “I need, I need my hand, I need the…” 

Anna nudged the bottle of lube in his direction, and he scrambled to grab it. With a slick hand, he jacked himself hard and fast, almost blacking out with relief. A single tear was sliding down the side of his face, not from emotion but from being physically overwhelmed. His soft whines were building into louder cries. If they had neighbors, they would have heard, but luckily their apartment took up an entire floor. 

“You’re so gorgeous like this, oh my God, I wish you could see yourself.” Anna was panting now as well, having broken a sweat a while ago from the exertion. “My gorgeous baby.”

The praise was enough to push John over the edge into a free-fall, letting out a broken wail as his hand flew over his own cock and his muscles clenched involuntarily around Anna’s. Hot come splattered across his stomach and chest, a wanton mess. Anna made a noise of empathy as though she could feel his climax too. 

Their bodies slowed to a stop together, moving and breathing as one. John was crying a little bit, but that was just a thing that happened sometimes and wasn’t a cause for concern. Anna pulled out slowly, trying to be as gentle as possible. John was a boneless heap, and it was her job to clean him up and take care of him. She took off the harness and the rest of her lingerie, not caring about folding them nicely. She would deal with that later. 

She took a few baby wipes and cleaned off the come and most of the lube. John was silent, his eyes closed, and she could tell he was somewhere far away. But he was breathing steadily, which meant he was probably fine. She wiped away her own excess wetness that had begun to drip down her thighs. They would shower in a bit, but they weren’t quite finished. 

She lay down beside him and rolled him over so she could embrace him face-to-face. His arms reached out for her, and they interlocked limbs. Anna rubbed his back softly.

“Hey, hon. You alive?” 

John nodded into her shoulder. He planted lazy kisses on her skin, trying to fight off the wave of sleep that felt so alluring. Anna reached for the vibrator, pressing it between her legs. She sighed happily, finally relieving what had been throbbing for almost an hour now. 

“Here, let me do it,” John murmured. 

“You sure?” 

“Of course, it does all the work by itself.”

He held the vibe against her until she came, shaking and trembling. It happened twice. Three times, actually. 

They lay together, totally satiated, feeling like the only two people in the world. Anna took out her hairpins, letting her hair hang long and loose and free. Eventually they would need things like water, or food—John still hadn’t eaten all day—but right now nothing else mattered. 

“You didn’t shit on me.”

“At this point, I don’t even care if I did.”

“Did you like it?”

John snorted. “Did I _like_ it?”

Anna blushed, feeling self-conscious. “I want to hear your thoughts.”

“My thoughts are that you are a goddess among women, and also that my asshole might never be the same again.”

“That toy was tiny, you’re so dramatic.”

“I just got fucked in the ass by my wife. I’m allowed to be dramatic.” He pulled back so that he could meet her eyes. “I love you. A whole lot.” He placed a hand on her jaw, tracing her cheekbone with his thumb. 

“I love you more.” Anna ducked her head, hiding her face in him. She had had a very long day, and was finally feeling mousy and small. She was so warm inside. 

Anna hesitated, then asked: “Would you ever want to do it again?”

John laughed in a way that was also a groan. “I think I’d die if we did this every day, but it isn’t off the table. I feel like I need at least a month of recovery time.”

“It’s so hot, seeing you like that, you have no idea.”

“Now you know how I feel looking at you, every single day of my life.”

Anna purred, pressing a kiss to his chest. “I can’t let you fall asleep without eating anything. We should get up soon.” 

“I’m a delicate orchid and I need to be watered.” 

“I’ll mist you in a little flower pot,” Anna smiled. 

“Not if I mist you first.”

“Whatever you say, babe.”

\--end--


End file.
